


The most wonderful time of the year

by LittleTurtle95



Series: You only live once (but do you?) [8]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Adrian Mellon Lives, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Alternate Universe - World War I, American Civil War, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bill And Stan Are Immortal Dads, Bonding Over Straw Goats, Brotherly Bonding, Character Study, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Special, Don Hagarty Is A Good Boyfriend, Don Hagarty Is Not Amused, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, French Revolution, Georgie Denbrough Lives, Grief/Mourning, Hanukkah, I Said The Word Straw Too Many Times, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Multilingual, Non-Graphic Violence, Stanley Uris Lives, Temporary Character Death, These Gays Cannot Be Buried, Yule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27858377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTurtle95/pseuds/LittleTurtle95
Summary: Little snippets of every Loser during the most wonderful time of the year, back to when they had just become immortal, in various times in history.Some of them were happy, some of them were sad, most of them were lost, worried and confused.In the end, everything had been worth it.Starring:Ribe, Denmark, 852 ADThessaloniki, Greece, 1441Paris, France, 1798Augusta, USA, 1863Neuve Chapelle, France, 1914Los Angeles, USA, 1980Derry, USA, 2020
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough & Georgie Denbrough, Don Hagarty & The Losers Club, Don Hagarty/Adrian Mellon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Georgie Denbrough & The Losers Club, Stanley Uris/Original Female Character(s)
Series: You only live once (but do you?) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843612
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27





	The most wonderful time of the year

**Author's Note:**

> I’d say that this is a Christmas fic, but it would be a lie. This is clearly not an Hanukkah fic either, and neither it's a Yule fic.  
> I don't know what this is, but it has found family, a lot of snow, more timelines than recommended and every Loser has their chance to be happy, so here we are.  
> You'll find all the translations in the end notes 🎶
> 
> Welcome December!
> 
> P.S. in 1914 I mention a real song, when I do I suggest you to listen to it on YouTube 🥰
> 
> P.P.S. this work is part of a series and if you hadn't read the previous parts you'd probably be confused. That's a good thing tho, now you can read a lot of fics to be able to read this one and you'll get even more entertainment 😌 you're welcome

_**Time,** /taɪm/, noun:_

_> the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole;_

_> the definite part of existence that is measured in minutes, days, years, etc.;_

_> a historical period;_

_> a person's experience during a specified period or on a particular occasion (e.g. a good time // a hard time)._

* * *

_**December 21, 852 A.D.** _

**Ribe, modern Denmark**

“Brother!” 

Silence.

“Brother!” 

Bjørn didn’t move, instead he squeezed his already closed eyes even tighter.

“Brother, brother, brother, bro-”

“Við hamri Þórs!” he murmured, still sleepy, as the kid shook him by the shoulders. “Go back to sleep Gunnar, or else-”

“But it’s Yule today! And we still have to build the goat!”

The boy groaned, and finally opened his eyes. “Go collect some straw then, I’ll make it later.”

“But I already have the straw we need! Come on, don’t be a spoilsport!”

That made Bjørn finally sit up on the wool blankets he used as a bed. “You went out alone to look for straw in the middle of the night?”

The kid rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I can get killed, right?”

The first time they had died it had been two years earlier, for starvation. It hadn’t been pleasant and Bjørn still remembered it as the worst day of his life. It had been raining a lot, and when Gunnar had finally stopped breathing he had felt like he was dying, too. They had woken up side by side no long after, and realised they couldn’t die, at least not for long. Even injuries didn’t last more than a few seconds on them.

Gunnar thought it was a blessing, a gift from the gods that wanted them to be healthy and glorious. Bjørn saw it more like a curse.

“We don’t know how it works yet. Every time could be the last.”

“Don’t be so negative. The gods gave us this gift for us to do something great, if we keep playing the cute little orphan farmers they’ll take it away. I don’t want to give it away, brother. I like it a lot.”

“Of course, because going out to take some straw is so epic. Tyr would be so proud…”

“Still better than sleeping like a pig,” Gunnar said with a half smile.

He was ten now, but still looked eight like the night he died for the first time. He hadn't aged a day since. Just like Bjørn, who was eighteen now, but still looked sixteen.

Bjørn sighed, took one of the blankets beneath him and handed it to his brother. “Here, take this, it’s freezing today. I’ll salvage the fire.”

It was the shortest day of the year, the sun would have shone in the sky - unless the clouds weren’t going to allow it - only for a few hours that day, and there were more than three feet of snow outside.

Everything was still dark and quiet, but that night the town would have started the celebrations, and bonfires were going to lit up the valley, and rivers and rivers of beer were going to be drunk in the name of the gods.

Gunnar took the blanket with no further comment, nuzzling in it with a self satisfied smile. “So? What about that straw goat?”

“Let me fix the fire and I’ll get to it, okay? Just give me a minute.”

“Have I ever told you you’re by far my favourite brother in the whole world?”

“I am your only brother, you pest.”

“Oh Bjørn, Bjørn, Bjørn… why do you always have to focus on the downside?”

* * *

_**December 16, 1420** _

_**Thessaloniki, Ottoman Empire, modern Greece**_

Sroel looked at the Hanukiyyah on the windowsill with a sigh, playing with the bracelet in his hands. This had been the first Hanukkah without his wife, all three of his children were spread all over the Empire and he was alone.

It had been hard to keep his secret through the years. God had blessed him with a wonderful woman by his side and three wonderful and healthy children that accepted him for who he was, but he knew no one was supposed to know the truth behind his neverending youth.

They had travelled a lot during the fifty years that had passed between his first death and that very moment, because they couldn’t let people notice he didn’t age like a normal person. 

They were merchants after all, so it hadn’t been a big deal. They had visited every corner of the great Empire and they never stayed in the same place for more than two years. 

At first they used to introduce themselves like husband and wife, then they had to start saying Sroel was her younger brother, then son, and at last her nephew. It had been hard but they had loved each other deeply until the very end.

After _that_ happened, there hadn’t been much that Sroel had cared about, so he had kept selling his goods, reading his Torah, helping the ones in need and moving and moving and moving with nowhere to belong.

Despite being the second day of Teveth it was hot in Thessaloniki that day, but he liked spending his time there. The people were nice, the community was friendly and the affairs were good.

It wasn’t like he had much to do other than wait, wait for his condition to finally end and to be reunited with the person he loved.

His kids had already settled down, they couldn’t keep up with him moving every two years anymore, and he was just trying to enjoy life as best as he could before the inevitable death he was sure was going to take him, sooner or later.

Only God lived forever and he for sure wasn’t one.

He had just finished the daily blessings and was waiting for his heart to find peace again to go to bed and rest a bit, trying to entertain himself playing with his beloved wife’s bracelet, one of the few things that belonged to her that didn’t bring sorrow to his heart, when he heard someone knocking at the door.

He frowned, confused and slightly worried. It was late and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He went to open the door anyway, because it could have been someone in need of help.

Once he opened the door and saw who was waiting for him on the other side he couldn’t really say he was surprised. 

There were two young boys, one looked like a teen, the other couldn’t have been more than ten, probably younger. 

If he hadn’t known them, he would have probably offered some treats and money to the kid, but he knew he couldn’t judge these two particular books by their cover.

They were the same people he had dreamed about for more than fifty years, the only people he knew were just like him.

It was the very first time for them to meet in real life, but he had observed them from afar through his dreams and he felt like he already knew them a bit.

“Kalispera, dear Sroel,” said the eldest, “may we come inside? We have been travelling for a while and we’re exhausted.”

“Chag Chanukah sameach,” greeted the other. “You have a very nice house.”

Sroel stepped back and let them get inside.

“Be my guests, my friends” he said, “I made loukoumades. Do you want some?”

“Oh, I love those,” the kid said, the first to come in. “It’d be lovely.”

His brother followed soon after. “I’m sorry it took us so long. We assumed you wanted some time with your family before it was too late, or we would have come sooner.”

“I figured,” he muttered, leading them to the small kitchen. “Good choice, I appreciated it. It’s been good. A real family, I mean. Even if now it’s gone.”

“We’ll be your family now,” the boy, the man, told him, smiling a sad smile with two clear and honest eyes. “We are not going to leave soon.”

* * *

_**December, 24 1798** _

_**Paris, France**_

Benjamin was cuddled in his bed, a lit up candle on the wooden bedside table on his right and a book on his lap. 

It was snowing outside, and it was cold, and he had no intention of leaving his cozy nest, let alone the house itself. 

He was reading the _Orlando Paladino_ , a modern opera version of the epic poem _Chanson de Roland_. 

He knew it was Christmas’ Eve and he should have probably been outside trying to socialise, maybe to eat something good or try with small talks, but he wasn’t really that kind of guy, especially not after he died, and going out in Paris at night was getting more and more dangerous every passing day anyway.

Not that he was afraid anything bad could happen to him, not really.

The first time he had died it had been for a stab wound a few months earlier, and when he had woken up at the morgue he had been puzzled at first, but not for long. He was an architect, an academic, an avid reader with a fervent imagination and he had always imagined there were infinite adventures waiting for him behind the corner. 

He was a lonely man, he had never really made friends with anyone, he was an only child and his parents had died a few years earlier for a bad fever. He didn’t tell anyone he died, the day after his rebirth he got back to work like nothing happened and no one even noticed. Paris was a big city, there was no way that at the morgue someone could have found out who he was, so he had just broken out and kept doing what he always did.

He worked, he read, he slept. 

Nothing much, but for him it was enough.

Christmas made no exceptions and he didn’t really have someone to spend it with anyway.

He knew he should have felt lonely and sorrowful, but he didn’t miss company. How could someone miss something they never had? It would have been like for a salmon to miss the desert, or for a dog to miss alchemy studies. 

Besides, he knew someone was coming for him, he had seen it in his dreams.

Three boys, two of them underwater, the other one restless, yet composed. Two of them were coming to take him in that very moment, he had seen it clearly, the other one looked like he was still in the ocean, sinking deeper and deeper and deeper.

Thinking about them made him feel a sense of belonging he had never felt about anything or anyone.

He turned the page with his heart full.

Rodomonte and Orlando were duelling, and even if he already knew what was going to happen, he followed the lines in the book in curiosity and wonder.

He heard the bells of Notre Dame not far nearby. It wasn’t a church, not anymore, the revolution had claimed it, but the bells had never stopped working. 

The bells struck midnight.

Christmas.

Orlando and Rodomonte began the following scene as comrades, now on the same side.

Everything was going to be all right.

* * *

_**December 25, 1863** _

_**Augusta, United States of America**_

Mike shivered in his coat, walking down the street, hesitant and scared. When he had died in battle a few months earlier, hit on the chest by a grenade, he hadn’t believed it at first.

He had deserted because they had already declared him dead, and a few days later he had inadvertently cut himself with a knife and his wound had healed completely.

In that very moment he had finally understood the truth: Micheal Hanlon couldn’t die.

He had wondered in the past months whether or not he should go back to his family, and after weeks and weeks of overthinking he had finally come to terms with the fact that he had to see them, at least once, at least to say goodbye.

At least for Christmas. 

He had always loved to spend Christmas at home, especially back to when his parents were alive.

His footsteps cracked in the snow like on fallen leaves, his breath a small cloud for the cold. 

On the streets the flags, every courtyard had one, most of them already with the recent updated version of the 35th star.

West Virginia.

Maybe there really was a chance. Maybe the good guys were really going to win this time, maybe a small step was really going to be made. 

Christmas carols echoed through the air, children were playing snowballs fights on the street, and when he finally spotted his house he saw the red and golden ribbons on the porch and a sudden urge to burst in almost overwhelmed him.

He arrived at the porch in not more than a minute, his heart was racing like crazy.

_God, I missed home._

He was about to knock and make his grandfather’s day when he spotted something nailed on one of the porch’s columns and stopped dead on his heels. 

A medal of honour.

 _His_ medal of honour. The one for the fallen.

His grandfather was a caring man and Mike knew he loved him with every fiber of his heart, but he was also a fierce man, wise and proud, and he had never exposed anything Mike had ever made before.

This was probably the proudest he had ever been of his grandson.

He lowered his hand without knocking and walked a few steps on the side to look through the window. 

The house looked better now than how it had looked the last time Mike had been there. He could see the kitchen table had been fixed, he could spot a new cupboard and everything looked even more clean. A few Christmas Tree branches were decorated with golden stars on the table, the only sign of Christmas vibes inside the house.

He didn’t know why everything looked polished and brand new, maybe the Army had sent some money along with the medal, maybe with one less mouth to feed the man had been able to afford more things for himself, the only thing Mike was sure of was that he couldn’t burst back in his life and destroy everything the man had built for himself while he was gone.

He would have rather been Mike the war hero than Mike the deserter. 

He sighed, his heart heavy, and carefully took the medal from the column, putting it in his pocket.

This was going to be the last Christmas gift his family was ever going to give him.

He had to keep it to remind himself of why he was taking that choice and how much it was going to be worth it.

He bit his lips not caring about bruising them, they would have healed immediately after anyway. 

He walked slowly through the front garden, the snow freshly shoveled off the path. 

The Christmas carols sounded louder, just like everything else. He could even hear the blood pumping in his ears.

“Goodbye.”

* * *

_**December 26, 1914** _

_**Neuve Chapelle fields, disputed territory between Germany and France, modern France** _

It was late at night and it was freezing cold. 

The Christmas truce of the day before had just passed, and the German and British Army had got back to their fight. Richie could hear the gunshots clearly even if by now they had to be at least one mile away from the battlefield.

They were hiding in an abandoned farm in the French fields - German fields? He wasn’t sure if they had crossed the imaginary line yet and it kept moving day by day anyway - with all the lights switched off because they couldn’t let anyone find out they were there. 

They couldn’t let someone peek in and find them just like that.

They were deserters and, even worse, they came from opposite sides. It meant that it didn’t matter who was going to find them, they were going to be the enemy in both cases.

No one was supposed to know about them, with no exception.

He gave Eddie a side look, trying to be subtle. The boy looked just as cold as Richie felt, scared and confused. 

Richie couldn’t blame him, considering they had both found out that day they physically couldn’t die, and in the worst day possible.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw him again, on the ground, a hole in his neck and his open glassy eyes unfocused. 

Dead.

And now here he was, just by his side, like nothing happened. The smooth skin of his neck untouched.

Oh, how much he wanted to touch his throat, to feel his skin, to make sure he _really_ was alive and well, that it wasn’t all a fever dream, a sort of purgatory, that what they had was real.

Eddie turned to look at him and Richie looked down, embarrassed to be caught staring.

“Ich mag dich sehr, Richard,” Eddie said, almost absent mindedly. He didn’t look like the fact Richie had been staring had bothered him.

“Mate I just… I don’t understand what you’re saying. I am sorry.”

Eddie shrugged at that, barely visible in the dark.

They had found a change of clothes inside an old, dusty wardrobe, slightly too big for the both of them but at least they were comfy, and were currently enveloped in blankets they had found in an old, dusty, bedroom.

Even with the change of clothes Richie had kept the belt buckle Eddie had given him the day before, when they still were just two soldiers looking at each other from opposite sides of the same battlefield, destined to kill one another and nothing more.

He would have felt dumb, but he had seen Eddie playing with the penny earlier, the penny that Richie had given him during the truce, so he guessed they were even.

Eddie had even found a radio earlier, that was currently tuned to a German channel and Richie wasn’t understanding any of it. He really didn’t mind.

They had found canned beans and a wine bottle in the kitchen earlier, so their stomach was full and they were sipping wine; waiting for the night to pass; sitting on an old, dusty couch; too close and yet not close enough; the day after Christmas, in an abandoned farm in the dark.

The only thing he missed at the moment was a good cig, but every time he lit up one Eddie went batshit so he was trying to avoid them for now.

Suddenly, the radio lost the channel and started buzzing, and Eddie huffed in frustration.

Richie was just about to say something, anything, because he didn’t care about the language barrier, he wanted to know his new partner.

He wanted to hear his voice, to know his story, to understand what had brought a boy like him - kind and caring, a boy that spared his life and gave him a Christmas gift even if his job was literally to kill him - hundreds of miles away from home with a Mauser Rifle in hand, in a trench on the French fields with snow up to his knees and sorrow in his heart.

He was just about to ask, he had even already opened his mouth, when suddenly the radio found a new channel, making them both flinch.

A song started playing softly, and Richie took in a sharp breath. He knew that song. It was _On A Good Old Time Sleigh Ride_ , by the Peerless Quartet, and he liked it a lot.

He jumped off the old, dusty couch - everything was so dusty, and so old, but also so painfully intimate - and offered Eddie his hand.

The boy looked at him in confusion, so Richie smiled his best tentative smile and asked “Dance?”

Understanding flashed in Eddie’s eyes and he immediately shook his head.

“Oh, no. No no no no.”

“Come on Eds!”

“Eddie,” the boy corrected.

“Come on Eddie… we’re in this together, right?”

And as the boy reluctantly took his hand and they started dancing in the dark room, alone in this new endless life, free from the horror of the war, no more scared of losing his life, Richie realised this may as well be the best Christmas of his life.

* * *

_**December 24, 1980** _

_**Los Angeles, United States of America**_

The mall was full of people busy with their last minute Christmas shopping, there were decorations everywhere, Christmas songs playing from the speakers, toys commercials everywhere and Beverly was thrilled to say the least. 

Her father had never let her go Christmas shopping, they had never been that wealthy and even if they had he probably wouldn’t have let her.

Now here she was, her hands full of bags, her heart full of a peace she had never known in her life.

“I think we’re done, what do you say?” asked Ben, who was currently carrying twice the amount of the bags she had and looked slightly overwhelmed. 

She wasn’t worried, though. In the unluckily possibility that the man was going to die of exhaustion he would have woken up soon after.

She smiled at him and nodded, the cold air of December sending chills down her spine even in the crowded mall. “Yeah, I think that’s all. The only thing that’s missing is Bill’s sketchbook, but I don’t think we’re going to find it here”

“Yeah, he’s not going to be pleased,” said Ben, in a low concerned voice.

“Well, we did our best. And even if he gets mad, then what? It’s not like he can kill us, right?” she joked.

“Shhh!” came as an immediate response. “You can’t just say things like that in public!”

Beverly was still a newborn to this immortal life, she had turned a few months earlier, unpleasantly strangled by her disgusting creep of a father.

The disgusting creep of a father that was currently seven feet underground and far from coming back to the living, to Bev’s great satisfaction.

The nightmare had officially ended. She was going to be sixteen for the rest of her endless life, safe, free. No one could ever hurt her again like that. It would have been literally impossible.

And every bruise, every mark he had left on her body, everything was gone forever.

It was too good to be true, but it _was_ true. Her new normal.

She looked at her reflection on one of the shop windows and halted. Ben nearly stumbled on her, close behind, and looked at her in concern, always the most caring.

“What is it? Everything okay?”

“My hair,” she said, touching it with a confused frown. “I had cut it short months ago. Why hasn’t it grown back?”

She remembered the day she had cut her hair. Her father had touched it and then had caressed her face, her chest, her legs, and had called her beautiful.

He hated it when she cut her hair. He said it made her look like a boy, less attractive to his eyes. 

That’s why she had done it.

“Oh,” Ben said, suddenly apologetic. “They aren’t going to grow back. I’m sorry. Everything stays exactly as it was when you died the first time.”

Her eyes widened. “They are… they aren’t going to grow back?” she asked, so low he barely heard her.

“I’m sorry. You can always… you can always buy a wig.”

“I love it,” she whispered instead, so happy she felt like crying. 

“Sorry I… I didn’t hear you.”

“I love it,” she said louder, touching a lock of bright red hair and playing with it. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re… welcome?” Ben asked, confusion clear on his face.

She didn’t even hear him.

She was free.

* * *

_**December 25, 2020** _

_**Derry, United States of America**_

“So…” Don said, uncertain. “You said they celebrate Christmas.”

“They kind of do,” Adrian answered, shrugging.

“They kind of do? What does this even mean?”

“I don’t really know, Don. I just… I guess they have their own ways.”

He had died for the first time six months earlier, and it had happened five other times after that. The best and worst one so far had been jumping off the fifteenth floor of a building to save his friends.

Don, his very much mortal boyfriend, had not been amused of that at all.

Adrian fixed his mask with his hands uncomfortably. He physically couldn’t get sick of course, but he couldn’t exactly explain it to the authorities and, most importantly, mask and sunglasses made it impossible to recognise him on the street. 

His death had been all over on the news at the time, and people in Derry knew him well. This was the only way. 

“They’re crazy, love. I’m worried for you, they’re so… weird.”

“I think they’re kinda cool,” Adrian mumbled. “And Bill is teaching me to fight with the sword.”

“Isn’t it dangerous? I mean, what if it stops working? What if he stabs you and you don’t come back?”

“It’s far too soon for that darling, don’t worry.”

Don squeezed his hand but didn’t say anything more. Adrian squeezed back.

After their Christmas date Don drove them back to the safehouse in the countryside. The truck was missing, that could only mean someone wasn’t at home.

“I’m a bit scared,” Don mumbled. 

“You’ll love them. And they’ll love you. I promise.”

After a moment of hesitation, Don took a deep breath and Adrian opened the door.

Inside it was a mess.

Beverly and Eddie were trying to set up the decorations, Eddie was standing on the ladder trying to fix the lights on the ceiling, and Beverly was helping him holding the ladder still, or at least trying to. They were both swearing loudly. 

Ben, as the architect _and_ best cook of the group, was trying to direct both the set up, hissing directions to Bev and Eddie, and the kitchen, where Stan and Richie were following his suggestions.

There was a nice smell in the air, the ginger bread cookies were in the oven, Stanley was frying some lokoudeles and there was Kletzenbrot and a Galette de Roi on the kitchen table.

Georgie was sitting on the sofa, drinking eagerly from a beer stein bigger than his head.

It was impressive to see, an eight year old boy in an Iron Man’s Christmas sweater gulping beer like fruit juice.

“Hey guys!” Adrian yelled as he came in, and everybody turned to look at them.

“Hi,” said Don shyly, looking at Georgie with diffidence.

“New kid, Don!” Beverly said, doing a little jump and moving the ladder, nearly making Eddie fall on the floor.

“Hey, don’t- don’t do that!” he protested, but she ignored him.

They heard the sound of a car stopping by and Bev gasped again. “Did you hear that? It must be them!” 

The sudden movement made Eddie finally fall from the ladder with a loud thud, soon followed by an even louder “Scheiße!”

“Pour l’amour de Dieu chérie, fais attention,” said Ben, with a sigh.

“Uh, désolée,” she muttered. “Sorry, Eddie.”

“I think I just broke my arm,” he cursed. “Fuck. It hurts like hell. Fuck.”

Don looked in horror as the ugly fracture blatant in the ~~boy~~ man’s arm fixed itself with a crack.

“Well, not anymore,” Beverly said with a shrug. “Everything’s peachy.”

“Bev, are you trying to kill my boyfriend?” Richie asked, his nose still in the pot he was stirring carefully.

“Clearly,” Eddie muttered with a frown.

“Never!” said Beverly.

Don looked at Stan, noticing how he was the only one apparently annoyed by the absolute craziness of what was going on, he had the bored and resigned expression of an exhausted father. 

Adrian, on the other hand, looked thrilled.

The door slammed open and Mike and Bill came in, a ten feet tall Christmas tree on their shoulders.

“Well, it’s huge,” Adrian commented.

“That’s what she said,” Richie added, with a wink. 

“Sei still Rich, sonst gibt’s was!” Eddie groaned.

Bill and Mike placed the tree in the middle of the living room, not without difficulty, but in the end the result was undoubtedly stunning.

Mike snuck in the kitchen to look at the food and probably eat some and subtly fix Richie’s mistakes - he was the best cook after Ben after all - while Bill sat beside Georgie and started to drink with him.

“You know brother, the beer is truly terrible nowadays. Humanity is really at its worst.”

“It’s because we’re in the States, Georgie. I’ll take you to Belgium next year, it’s far better there.”

The kid tilted his head, thinking about what Bill just said, and apparently agreed with him, because he didn’t protest, he just kept drinking from his beer stein.

“So?” Richie asked, impatient. “When are we getting started?”

“Getting started? To do what?” Adrian asked, confused.

“Decorating the tree. It’s our tradition,” Beverly said.

“Isn’t it a bit late for that?” Don asked.

“Isn’t it _everyone’s_ tradition?” Adrian followed.

“Not like this,” Bill said, between the sips. His brother was looking at him in interest too, he didn’t know what to expect, he was new at this just like Adrian was. “We put something that we owned in our past lives on it, something meaningful, and then we let it go for the day.”

Adrian frowned. “Something meaningful? Like what?”

“Something that makes you happy, perhaps,” said Eddie.

“Or even sad,” Stanley added.

“Something that makes you feel loved,” said Richie.

“Safe maybe,” said Ben.

“Something you don’t need anymore,” said Bev.

“Something to remind you why we do what we do,” said Mike.

“Anything, really,” said Bill and then, after a moment of hesitation, he added “something that defines you. Even something for someone else.”

“Oh,” Adrian whispered. “I… I don’t know.”

Don looked at him, smiling. He felt still hesitant about the other Losers, but he knew Adrian could do this. He knew it was important to him. 

“You got this, baby,” he said.

Adrian held his breath, closed his eyes and thought about everything that had happened to him in the past six months. He thought about something that was still haunting him even if there was no need to, not anymore.

His mind went back to the night he died.

The pain, the feeling of impotence, Don’s desperate screams.

_“No! Please! Stop! It’s… it’s his inhaler! He has asthma, it’s… stop! You’re killing him! No!”_

He opened his eyes again and nodded.

He took the inhaler from his pocket, his hands shaking, and held it tighter. 

He knew he didn’t have asthma anymore, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave it at home. The thought of going out without it made him feel sick to the stomach, like he could have an attack anytime that could leave him dead for good.

He had to free himself, he had to learn how to grow past it.

Looking at it, Eddie flinched.

“Come on new guy,” Bill said, soothing. “You’ve got this.”

He walked a few steps and put it on one of the branches. He already felt ten times lighter.

He turned back to smile at Don and the others but he was closer than expected and kissed him there, right next to the ten feet tall Christmas tree his one thousand years old immortal partner in crime and dad by proxy had bought for his new crazy family to celebrate this sort of Christmas-y winter holiday with them.

The feeling of Don’s lips on his could never bore him, he knew it. The thought of the inevitable end of what they had in no more than eighty years at best made his heart clench, but he put the thought aside, focusing on the moment, on Don’s touch and his breath, and his hands on his hips.

Someone, probably Beverly, whistled and they parted, Don’s cheeks bright red.

“Well guys,” Mike declared, “let’s get to it!”

Ten minutes later, the tree was fully decorated. On its branches Don could recognise a golden bracelet, a pocket book, a medal of honor, an old penny, a belt buckle with an eagle, a vintage pair of scissors and a plastic inhaler.

They were all looking at the tree, everyone lost in his thoughts, everyone except the scary ancient kid that was now looking at the front door, where Bill had disappeared a few minutes earlier.

When he finally came back in, Georgie’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say a word. 

Bill had a small goat shaped toy made of straw, with a red ribbon.

_Anything, really. Something that defines you. Even something for someone else._

“They exist? These days? Still?” Georgie asked, and everything he’d gone trough was so painfully clear in his eyes.

Bill handed it to him with a shrug. “Some things never die.”

Georgie took it carefully, like he was scared he could break it if he didn’t use such care. He stood up and placed it next to Adrian’s inhaler, on the closest branch.

“Merry Christmas guys,” Don said, because there wasn’t much more anyone could have said. Words were useless at the moment. “Or… merry whatever this is supposed to be.”

The smell of the food filled the room. Everyone was there. All their past lives were looking at them and at the people they loved and they were looking back.

That was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Language notes:  
> Við hamri Þórs! = By Thor’s hammer!  
> Kalispera = Good evening  
> Chag Chanukah sameac = Happy Hanukkah  
> Ich mag dich sehr = I like you a lot  
> Scheiße! = Shit!  
> Pour l’amour de Dieu chérie, fais attention = For the love of God darling, be careful  
> Désolée = Sorry  
> Sei still Rich, sonst gibt’s was! = Shut up Rich, or else-!
> 
> Well, what can I say? I love this AU, I have other fics planned, I don't know when I will post them because I have a lot of things to do but yay, at least I've got this little “Christmas” special as a treat.  
> I would highly recommend to listen to On A Good Old Time Sleigh Ride because picturing Richie and Eddie dancing with that on the radio in 1914 The Shit™  
> I did research before writing this fic, but this is not an essay, it's a work of fiction and it does not claim historical accuracy.
> 
> In case someone's wondering, Mike had kept an eye on his grandfather and made sure he had stayed happy and out of trouble for the rest of his life; Richie and Eddie had bought that farm in Neuve Chapelle and like to spend some alone time there every once in a while; and Beverly has the greatest collection of hats, hair products and hai accessories you could ever imagine and she's very fond of it, she has bought most of them but Ben and the other losers like to indulge her and buy her something for her collection from time to time.
> 
> Thanks for sticking up with me and happy Holidays ❤️


End file.
